


call off the search for your soul (put it on hold)

by orphan_account



Series: all i ever wanted was the world [1]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: M/M, and josh is a fucking dick, tylers a pretty pastel flower child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 03:15:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6139456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>all that anyone really knows is that they got assigned on a group project for english ten together, and a week later, they were walking into school holding hands and shifting the entire balance of the social ladder upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	call off the search for your soul (put it on hold)

**Author's Note:**

> another series? you fucking betcha  
> at least it's a nice series and no one dies or gets hurt bye bye

at school, they’re quite an eye-catcher.

no one ever really expected them to be together; they came from two different walks of life, two different areas of town, two different social groups. they weren’t friends before tenth grade, didn’t know of each other aside from the fact that their two groups didn’t exactly get along well.

see, there’s tyler joseph – boy’s real down to earth, super sweet, your glorified grade-a bonafide good ol’ boy. he’s the pastor’s son, goes to church on sunday at his mother’s request and gets straight a’s, panics if he gets so much as a b on a test score. he’s all shy glances and nervous quirks and twitching nerves and anxiety-riddled bones with flowers in his hair; his favorite colors are pink and purple and he wears lipstick at school despite his brother preaching that make up is for girls, buys pretty dresses from the girl’s store at the supermarket.

generally, he just doesn’t give two fucks about what the boys on the basketball team have to say about him.

but he’s a sweetheart, really, wouldn’t so much as hurt a fly; he’s got big doe eyes that remind everyone he comes into contact with of bambi, with thick eyelashes and plump lips that could probably be sinful if he didn’t come across as so innocent. he’s also carrying the air of an eight-year old with a superiority complex, but his heart’s in the right place and people adore him, fawn over him.

he’s also the ringleader of a group of pastel flower children who probably their weekends smoking pot and near-drowning in brendon urie’s backyard pool claiming to party in the name of pop punk, but he’s a good kid, hasn’t touched a drug in his life. it’s not his style.

joshua dun isn’t his style, either. that’s why it’s so fucking surprising when they walk into school one day, holding hands as tyler chatters on and on and josh listens intently.

josh is tyler’s polar opposite. we’re talking all black everything from the boots on his feet to the leather jacket he proudly bestows on his back, the helmet on his head and the sleek motorcycle he drives to and from school every day without fail (everyone knows that his parents bought him that bike, but they don’t have the guts to say shit about it). he’s got the type of look about him that makes you shut up in an instant if he so much as glances at you the wrong way.

point is, he’s cruel. the type of kid to pick on tyler’s type in middle school and beat them raw and bloody in the parking lot in high school just because he _can_ ; he’s got a grin full of sharp teeth and scars wrapping his broad frame, bruised and bloody knuckles. his laugh is loud and everything about him rings intimidating. no one fucks with him, no one crosses him, and no one pulls any kind of receipts on him because they know just what type of person he is.

head of the pack, top of the social ladder. typical bad boy, complete with the fire engine dyed hair and the nose ring and the leather jacket he never stops wearing even in the eighty-degree heat of columbus’ summer months. he has something on everyone, somehow knows everything that goes on because it’s his school. he owns the place, and his throne is the hallways.

but, apparently, he’s got a soft spot for tyler joseph.

pretty little tyler joseph who’s barely five foot eight on a _good_ day, with his big old bambi eyes and full pink lips and fluttery, thick lashes; pretty little tyler joseph who’s white knuckles are always tugging down at his too-tight, too-short skirts and dresses as they brush softly against his thighs when he walks, hips swaying. killer legs on the kid, really, he’s a _catch_.

and he seems to have caught josh’s attention, for sure.

all that anyone really knows is that they got assigned on a group project for english ten together, and a week later, they were walking into school holding hands and shifting the entire balance of the social ladder upside down.

no one’s asking directly about what the fuck is happening, because it involves _josh_ , except for brendon urie; he’s currently stalking the hallways looking for either of the pair, stoned off his ass during the middle of the day yet still somehow pissed beyond belief at tyler’s blatant disrespect and complete disruption of the ‘natural order’ of things.

“why were you holding hands with _him_?” brendon spits furiously as he finds tyler at his locker, swaying slightly on his feet; his sunglasses slip down the bridge of his nose, and even though the ‘him’ in question isn’t mentioned, tyler knows immediately who he’s prying about.

“why does it _matter_ , bren?” tyler sighs back, glancing at himself in the mirror of his locker as brendon hangs nearby, scowling; he swipes his thumb underneath his lip and fixes the smudge of gloss there, shooting him a smile of sunshine. brendon’s something like his best friend, has been since sixth grade when he caught tyler crying underneath the gym bleachers over some asshole calling him a _girl_ for wearing a skirt; he’s annoying beyond all belief, but tyler loves the boy to death.

“it matters,” he automatically launches into a long-winded spiel, forgetting half of it in his blissed-out stupor; he trips over his words and stutters, but tyler gets the gist of it. he can’t be with josh because it’ll destroy the balance of the school’s social structure – as if he was concerned, in the first place. all he cares about is making straight a’s and looking fine as fuck, which he _does_ , and he does _well_. having a boyfriend is the furthest from his list of troubles.

“you worry too much, honey,” tyler sighs dramatically, touching up his eyeliner with a quick flick before replacing the stick back into his makeup bag. he zips it up with a flourish, smoothing out the front of his skirt with his other hand before reaching out to ruffle brendon’s hair. “i gotta go. i’m meeting josh after school so we can work on our project. see you later, love.”

with that, he’s gone with a swish of his skirt against pale, chubby thighs, and the click of black heels falling against tiled floors.


End file.
